A bit late for the bus this week - thought I'd be walking really, I'm so late. But, you know, sometimes you just have to push yourself, run to catch up and take that leap aboard.
This week the bus is been driven by Chiccoreal and the task is to write a poem on the first thing you think or do in the morning. Here's my effort...
Morning
Lying, duvet still my first skin
I contemplate the wardrobe at the
bottom of my bed.
He pollutes my bedroom view
monolithic oak-esque slab
gigantic gormless
looming formless eyesore
A brick shithouse bouncer
Big and basic
guarding tops and trousers
bought for comfort not
for comment.
There's something Soviet
in its ugly utilitarian
mournfulness
and in the last fake night of
curtains and blinds
it reminds me of all that's
futile
and night's febrile thoughts
linger longer
joining me in my
contemplation of our silent lodger
and his stoic silence.
As the chaos clatters from downstairs
I stay still staring at
my morose clothes companion
children fighting, watching tv
in pyjamas with school bells
five minutes soon.
husband long gone or rattle
battling instant coffee into
travel mug, ignoring the
skiving offspring
and still me and my wardrobe
compete our silent duel
who'll blink first.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Late Bus
A bit late for the bus this week - thought I'd be walking really, I'm so late. But, you know, sometimes you just have to push yourself, run to catch up and take that leap aboard.
This week the bus is been driven by Chiccoreal and the task is to write a poem on the first thing you think or do in the morning. Here's my effort...
Morning
Lying, duvet still my first skin
I contemplate the wardrobe at the
bottom of my bed.
He pollutes my bedroom view
monolithic oak-esque slab
gigantic gormless
looming formless eyesore
A brick shithouse bouncer
Big and basic
guarding tops and trousers
bought for comfort not
for comment.
There's something Soviet
in its ugly utilitarian
mournfulness
and in the last fake night of
curtains and blinds
it reminds me of all that's
futile
and night's febrile thoughts
linger longer
joining me in my
contemplation of our silent lodger
and his stoic silence.
As the chaos clatters from downstairs
I stay still staring at
my morose clothes companion
children fighting, watching tv
in pyjamas with school bells
five minutes soon.
husband long gone or rattle
battling instant coffee into
travel mug, ignoring the
skiving offspring
and still me and my wardrobe
compete our silent duel
who'll blink first.
This week the bus is been driven by Chiccoreal and the task is to write a poem on the first thing you think or do in the morning. Here's my effort...
Morning
Lying, duvet still my first skin
I contemplate the wardrobe at the
bottom of my bed.
He pollutes my bedroom view
monolithic oak-esque slab
gigantic gormless
looming formless eyesore
A brick shithouse bouncer
Big and basic
guarding tops and trousers
bought for comfort not
for comment.
There's something Soviet
in its ugly utilitarian
mournfulness
and in the last fake night of
curtains and blinds
it reminds me of all that's
futile
and night's febrile thoughts
linger longer
joining me in my
contemplation of our silent lodger
and his stoic silence.
As the chaos clatters from downstairs
I stay still staring at
my morose clothes companion
children fighting, watching tv
in pyjamas with school bells
five minutes soon.
husband long gone or rattle
battling instant coffee into
travel mug, ignoring the
skiving offspring
and still me and my wardrobe
compete our silent duel
who'll blink first.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Must I?
Haven't posted in a week.
Gah!
Surely I must have something to say?
Er.
Mr Oub's been in Bratislava all week. Had the temerity to text me, telling me that he was all hung over on Thursday. What's that honey, you're feeling a little off as you had too good a time out boozing with your co-workers? I'll get to some sympathy after I finish cleaning the house, minding your children and generally been exhausted from doing everything on my own!
Not bitter, no.
That said, I did have to rummage around a little for my indignation.
Why? 'Cause I am very lazy.
I get quite cross when I have to do more than the bare minimum. Like, with Mr Oub away, the laundry has been quite piling up. And the bin? Needs emptying. And sundry other trifles that would just require that little bit too much for Queen Oub.
I'd much rather sit on my arse.
Would you believe I had to put the kids to bed every night! On my own. Well. Okay, I put Toddler Oub to bed, but the lads Oub were sent by themselves - and sure, so what if I did a deal with them where they were allowed extra time on the WII in return for me not having to read them a story? Is that so bad?
I think I could give Katie Price and Kerry Katona a run for their money in the model mother stakes.
Anyway, Mr Oub will return any minute now, we wait impatiently, and normal service will return.
Hurray! Sofa - you and me got a hot date.
Gah!
Surely I must have something to say?
Er.
Mr Oub's been in Bratislava all week. Had the temerity to text me, telling me that he was all hung over on Thursday. What's that honey, you're feeling a little off as you had too good a time out boozing with your co-workers? I'll get to some sympathy after I finish cleaning the house, minding your children and generally been exhausted from doing everything on my own!
Not bitter, no.
That said, I did have to rummage around a little for my indignation.
Why? 'Cause I am very lazy.
I get quite cross when I have to do more than the bare minimum. Like, with Mr Oub away, the laundry has been quite piling up. And the bin? Needs emptying. And sundry other trifles that would just require that little bit too much for Queen Oub.
I'd much rather sit on my arse.
Would you believe I had to put the kids to bed every night! On my own. Well. Okay, I put Toddler Oub to bed, but the lads Oub were sent by themselves - and sure, so what if I did a deal with them where they were allowed extra time on the WII in return for me not having to read them a story? Is that so bad?
I think I could give Katie Price and Kerry Katona a run for their money in the model mother stakes.
Anyway, Mr Oub will return any minute now, we wait impatiently, and normal service will return.
Hurray! Sofa - you and me got a hot date.
Must I?
Haven't posted in a week.
Gah!
Surely I must have something to say?
Er.
Mr Oub's been in Bratislava all week. Had the temerity to text me, telling me that he was all hung over on Thursday. What's that honey, you're feeling a little off as you had too good a time out boozing with your co-workers? I'll get to some sympathy after I finish cleaning the house, minding your children and generally been exhausted from doing everything on my own!
Not bitter, no.
That said, I did have to rummage around a little for my indignation.
Why? 'Cause I am very lazy.
I get quite cross when I have to do more than the bare minimum. Like, with Mr Oub away, the laundry has been quite piling up. And the bin? Needs emptying. And sundry other trifles that would just require that little bit too much for Queen Oub.
I'd much rather sit on my arse.
Would you believe I had to put the kids to bed every night! On my own. Well. Okay, I put Toddler Oub to bed, but the lads Oub were sent by themselves - and sure, so what if I did a deal with them where they were allowed extra time on the WII in return for me not having to read them a story? Is that so bad?
I think I could give Katie Price and Kerry Katona a run for their money in the model mother stakes.
Anyway, Mr Oub will return any minute now, we wait impatiently, and normal service will return.
Hurray! Sofa - you and me got a hot date.
Gah!
Surely I must have something to say?
Er.
Mr Oub's been in Bratislava all week. Had the temerity to text me, telling me that he was all hung over on Thursday. What's that honey, you're feeling a little off as you had too good a time out boozing with your co-workers? I'll get to some sympathy after I finish cleaning the house, minding your children and generally been exhausted from doing everything on my own!
Not bitter, no.
That said, I did have to rummage around a little for my indignation.
Why? 'Cause I am very lazy.
I get quite cross when I have to do more than the bare minimum. Like, with Mr Oub away, the laundry has been quite piling up. And the bin? Needs emptying. And sundry other trifles that would just require that little bit too much for Queen Oub.
I'd much rather sit on my arse.
Would you believe I had to put the kids to bed every night! On my own. Well. Okay, I put Toddler Oub to bed, but the lads Oub were sent by themselves - and sure, so what if I did a deal with them where they were allowed extra time on the WII in return for me not having to read them a story? Is that so bad?
I think I could give Katie Price and Kerry Katona a run for their money in the model mother stakes.
Anyway, Mr Oub will return any minute now, we wait impatiently, and normal service will return.
Hurray! Sofa - you and me got a hot date.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Shallow Pool
Some of you will remember my previous post where I pondered the worrying similarity between myself and my grandmother. Well, scarier still, it appears that my son and my father are twins, separated by some Quantum Leap stylee temporal rift...
It makes me cross! Why do I go to the bother of introducing new genes to the Oubliette pool, go through nine horrible months of pregnancy - and then don't get me started on the labour - all just to produce a carbon copy of one of us already! I thought we were all God's precious little snowflakes.
Ah, but they are cuties, aren't they :o)
Shallow Pool
Some of you will remember my previous post where I pondered the worrying similarity between myself and my grandmother. Well, scarier still, it appears that my son and my father are twins, separated by some Quantum Leap stylee temporal rift...
It makes me cross! Why do I go to the bother of introducing new genes to the Oubliette pool, go through nine horrible months of pregnancy - and then don't get me started on the labour - all just to produce a carbon copy of one of us already! I thought we were all God's precious little snowflakes.
Ah, but they are cuties, aren't they :o)
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